Where Darkseid Reaches
by TheRantDragon
Summary: AU. The potent and mysterious Venom toxin is spreading rapidly throughout the galaxy. Captain Artemis Crock and her fleet are determined to seek out the source of this deadly drug. Wally/Artemis, Dick/Zatanna, Dick/Babs, Roy/Jade and SuperMartian. Discontinued.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or any of it's characters.**

**I got this idea from a badass pair of Steampunk-esque boots I saw on Tumblr that just SCREAMED Artemis to me! I tried to draw a picture of her in them, but instead of just looking normal or Steampunk, she looked more like she belonged in some outerspace setting (lol, Treasure Planet anyone?) and then THIS happened.**

**Anyway, I'm bad about never finishing multi-chaptered fics, but we'll see how this one goes.**

**o.o.o.o**

Captain Artemis Crock smirks to herself in satisfaction as she stands in the admiral's quarters of her most recently conquered vessel; well, it might as well already be conquered, though she can still hear a few tranqs going off and the rumble of small explosions. Tendrils of smoke begin to billow in through one of the ventilation shafts as she plops down in a cushiony chair behind the admiral's desk.

She glances down, wrinkles her nose in disgust at the wrappers upon wrappers of candy bars and potato chips and foreign alien cuisines that rest atop a map of the vast reaches of the solar system. She swipes them off onto the floor with one sweep of her forearm just as there's a knock at the automated door.

"Come in," she calls, placing her weapon on the newly cleared space in front of her. The door opens of it's own accord to admit the dark form of her handsome first mate Kaldur'ahm, behind whom she catches the briefest flash of red hair and a scuffle outside before the space is closed again.

"Captain," Kaldur'ahm says in his steady, even voice, making the customary signal of salute, a forearm crossed above his brow with hand fisted. Artemis makes a gesture at him and he lowers his arm before crossing both behind his back. His gills flutter uselessly as he takes a calm breath and walks closer to his captain's presence. "We have at last found the admiral; he attempted one final stand in the barracks."

"Good. Bring him in."

"Miss Crock..." the Atlantean murmurs uncertainly, his eyes still firmly locked with hers in respect. She blenches at being addressed in such a way; she hates the formalness of it, as if he's one of the feckless lackey's they've begrudingly recruited over the years.

Kaldur is not just her first mate, he is her friend, and a loyal one at that. She knows how very polite and pointed he can be, but sometimes it gets old having to remind him that he's more just than another face aboard the _Huntress._

In fact, had he taken up the role of captain long ago, Artemis would be _his _first mate...

"Kaldur, not again. I'm Artemis to you. Not _Miss Crock_," she states in abhorrence, the title rolling from her tongue like poison.

His lip twitches up at the corner.

"Artemis," he corrects with humor, then trudges on with a look of trepidation. "I must warn you, he is... difficult."

Artemis gives a snorting laugh, leaning back in the leather chair as she brings her black and gray boots onto the surface of the star maps. The action jars a picture of an alien girl from between the stacks of parchment, and she rolls her eyes, picking it up and scanning it.

_Typical_.

"Please, Kal. This is... what? The hundredth fleet we've taken? I think I can handle this guy."

He bows his head low and returns the way he entered, but stands to the side as he presses a button on the door's control panel. It slides open to reveal that the previous scuffle has ended; the shockingly red-haired Wallace West is shoved in solemnly, his face a mask of strangely eased defiance as his nose bleeds profusely into his mouth.

Blood red goggles are perched above his emerald eyes; one of the glass pieces is shattered. Judging from Conner's bloodied knuckles, it was his doing.

Said silent muscle kicks the man to his knees with a scowl and looks to Artemis for further orders.

She ignores him in favor of a more pressing question.

"Where's Zee?" Artemis demands, perplexed by her advisor and best friend's lack of appearance; Zatanna is always present during interrogation of a captured ship's leader.

Conner looks to Kaldur'ahm and shrugs before answering in his clear, ever-angered voice.

"With Dick."

Captain Crock raises her eyebrows, prompting the super boy to elaborate. He points down at the still silent red-head.

"Dick. He's a mechanic and technicians expert for this fleet. Thermo-darts to the shoulder, Zatanna took a liking to him and decided to patch him up," Conner grunts, crossing his arms.

He'd always been a silent one; never liked mincing words much, and for him, that sentence had been the equivalent of the first chapter of a novel. Then again, what more did Artemis expect from a clone boy she'd found during one of her fleet seizures?

She feels a bit of agitation at this bit of treachery and decides she wants to be alone to deal with this would-be admiral and his bloody nose alone for once. She dismisses everyone in the room, including the reluctant-to-leave and ever-faithful Kaldur, whom she orders to stand guard outside the door.

"And you," she adds to Conner, pointing. "Go keep an eye on Zatanna and this... Dick guy."

The door shuts at last and Artemis stands from her chair, walking over to the captive with her hands behind her back. Her long blonde hair swishes out and slaps against his face as she does so, earning a grunt of discomfort from him.

_Good_.

"So. Wallace West. Some big shot prodigy scientist working with the Alliance. I've heard a bit about you," she begins, coming to a stop behind his hunkered back. She had recognized him the moment he'd staggered in; that haphazard head of hair and cheeky face had been plastered on the plasma screens more than once and wasn't easily forgotten. But what she can't figure out is what the hell a labrat scientist is doing leading a group of Insterstellar Justice Alliace ships and posing as an admiral to boot.

To her surprise, his shoulders shake with what can only be a brief stint of laughter.

"It's Wally. You've heard of me? Guess I'm more popular with the ladies than I thought."

His voice is, well... frankly annoying, and when she walks back around to his front and commands him look up at her, she sees his freckle spattered cheeks up close and must relent to think that they would admittedly be adorable on anyone but himself.

"Popular with the journalists, more like," Artemis corrects, rolling her eyes. Then she feels her nostrils flaring when she realizes his eyes have wandered to the hips beneath her black stretch pants, then on up to the ample bosom pressed out from her underbust harness. The gesture is enough to piss her off in and of itself, but the thing that sets her off is the fact that he looks so terribly _bored _with what he sees.

She reaches down with impossible speed and grasps the bottom of is face in her hand, eyes boring into his own.

"My eyes are up here, _Wallace_."

Wally snorts with amusement through his pinched cheeks.

"That they are. Don't flatter yourself, I hardly find your figure aesthetically pleasing. Now _M'gann_, there's an alien babe I could stare at all day," he sighs dreamily, eyes going unfocused. Artemis immediately knows that M'gann must be the alien girl in the picture she found.

She releases his face and paces for a moment, the cogs in her brain working. This is such a typical situation, a male with a soft spot for some alien dame that usually has absolutely no mutual interest in him whatsoever... she decides it's a safe bet that her captive's love is as comically (or depressingly) unrequited as the usual suspects, and files it away for future use should he become uncooperative.

"I haven't introduced myself," she realizes, and crosses her legs while leaning back onto the desk, smiling. "Captain Artemis Crock of the Gotham Fleet."

Wally scoffs and mumbles.

"Space pirates... don't you people have anything better to do? Seriously, take a vacation, go to some remote alien planet and get laid!" he cries jovially, a stupid grin on his face. Then he sobers quickly and looks her body over once more. "Well, no, I take that back. Nobody in their right mind, not even an alien, would sleep with _you_."

Captain Crock throws her head back with high humor, then brings it down nary an inch away from the captive's, so close that she's sure her breath is tickling his nose.

"Oh, you think so?" she asks quietly.

Their eyes lock and she can see his Adam's apple bob when he swallows, and for just the briefest of moments there's a static charge in the air around them until she moves away, satisfied with her intimidation tactics.

_Learned from the best_, Artemis thinks bitterly, turning completely away from Wally to gaze down at the star maps. There are several big red circles on the parchment. She points at them curiously as she addresses him.

"So, _Admiral _West... where were your fleets headed? Perhaps an alien planet for a vacation and various failed attempts at getting the locals to perform you sexual favors?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought."

Captain Crock shoulders off her brown jacket and drops it on the desk, opting to pick up her automatic crossbow and tweak its strings as she faces Wally once again. He eyes the strange weapon, the way she caresses the deadly sharp arrow head on the knocked shaft.

"What's that?" he asks in bewilderment.

"An old weapon. One I'm sure you've never heard of. But that's the whole idea: no one knows what to expect from a weapon like this."

"Please," Wallace snaps, and to her surprise, he maneuvers himself to his feet despite the bonds keeping his hands tied tightly behind his back. "I'm a scientist; Dick and I could make weapons the likes of which this galaxy has never seen! What're you going to do, pin cushion me? We have more suitable threats here, ones that could effectively wipe you from existence, _Captain_."

To her credit, Artemis doesn't back down or change the nature of her unimpressed expression throughout West's entire little death threat. Instead her heart rate quickens at the challenge(she's been _hardwired _for challenge), and she calmly brings her loaded crossbow up to a spot between his eyes, finger twitching falsely on the trigger.

"Would you like a demonstration on how this obsolete old thing works?" she asks softly, simply. Neither of them moves, and she can feel her digit tensing ever tighter on the trigger until at last she gives a great sigh of feigned boredom and pulls it away.

Both she and Wally are opening their mouths to say something heatedly when the door opens violently and Conner shoulders his way in, fists clasped around the shirt of a homely looking alien in a cloak, who appears to be struggling in vain. With a grunt, the clone gets a firm choke hold around the thing's slender white neck and marches him forward towards Captain Crock.

Artemis looks livid.

"Conner, I told you to watch Zee, what're you—"

"Right here, Artemis."

All eyes in the cabin turn to the newcomer, a young lady with deep brown locks. She's accompanied by a slightly taller guy with unkempt black hair and a dark pair of shades concealing his eyes. Even with his battered skin and bandaged upper arm he has an apropos smile plastered to his face as he takes in everything around him, like a kid perusing a candy store. Obviously his eyes alight on Wallace, because he waves cheerily and makes a biting comment.

"Hey there, Admiral Wall-man! Who's your new lady friend? I hope this one came to your office voluntarily!"

The jibe is ignored.

"Zatanna, what were you—?"

"Conner, relinquish your hold!"

Kaldur'ahm's harsh words rip through the air and interrupt Artemis' inquiry, startling everyone in the room. Heads whip in the direction of the silent super boy, whose grip has become so strong that the alien's normally pale white skin has turned an unhealthy shade of magenta. Conner gives the command a moment's thought, then releases the hapless creature, which slides onto the wooded flooring as it takes shuddering gulps of fresh air.

The room is silent save for the gasps, and no one notices Wallace West slip mysteriously from his metal bonds and zip over to his comfy desk chair in the blink of an eye. There, he picks up the picture of M'gann that Captain Crock had impatiently tossed back on the mahogany earlier, and after removing a slight dog ear from the corner, deposits it in a pocket on his vest.

"Who is this?" Artemis demands, gesturing at the alien. "Did you find the Venom?"

Wally sits up straight, his back going rigid at the mention of that hated substance, that vile liquid that turns the most passive of men into vicious, mutated monsters. Venom on one of _his _ships? Impossible!

"Venom? What venom?" he asks loudly, slamming his hands down. Captain Crock is far less intrigued by his concerns and more disturbed by the fact that his hands are free.

"How did you get loose!" she splutters, indignant.

"Never mind that!" he says testily, waving her off. The others only look on in passive, wide-eyed disbelief when their captain doesn't retaliate in any way to the rude interruption. "What's this load about Cobra Venom being on my ship? This isn't a drug dealing operation; it's a major transport of goods to a developing colony!"

Conner suddenly guffaws, a deep sound that reverberates through the cramped room and sends shivers down the spines of those who aren't used to it. Just when Wally looks like he's about to explode with questions and impatience, the superboy reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a tiny vial of deep blue liquid, which he holds up to the light for all to see.

"No Cobra venom, huh? Did you ever bother looking in the crates of what you were shipping?"

Conner's question leaves the room quiet once more, all eyes now on the frozen form of Wally West, who seems to have a lump stuck in his throat. Dick is looking just as grim by Zatanna's side, his lips set into a thin line of tension as he watches his friend through some internal struggle.

"Yes, we did!" Wally blurts out suddenly, pointing to his young friend. "We did open one of the crates; I remember Dick and Megan cracking one of the big ones open, the ones with the Alliance symbol on them! There _is no Cobra venom on this ship_!"

"You're a bigger fool than you look" the superboy scoffs, and Artemis is a little shocked by how entertainingly vocal he's been this night. She clears her throat to stop any come backs from the scientist, who shoots her a murderous look.

"That's enough, Conner. Go find this... Megan and bring one of the large Alliance shipments with you. Dismissed." Artemis tells him firmly, striding across the room and pressing the button for the cabin's automated door. For the second time he grumbles and exists the room in high bad temper, off to find his objectives.

Kaldur'ahm shuffles forward in the quiet aftermath and gestures down at the alien, who by now has managed all of his color, or lack thereof, back.

"Excuse my interruption, Captain, but ought we not interrogate this creature for answers?"

Nothing would ever get done without Kaldur's always wise and sensible council.

She nods, turns her attention back to the white alien, the one whom, despite the fact that he'd nearly just been strangled to death by a cloned Kryptonian with a bad attitude, is _grinning _like the freaking Cheshire cat from the old story Artemis is so partial to. Her eyebrows shoot up dangerously close to her hairline; what was with the captives on this ship thinking their imminent doom was so hilarious?

"Name!" Captain Crock barks, losing her patience.

"Name?" he repeats, still grinning. She is disturbed by how _human _he looks, by the protuberant eyes ravishing her skin from beneath the hood of the ratty brown cloak. He has a bizarrely dry and halting voice that would've made his speech nearly unintelligible to all but the most experienced in Alliance affairs, but luckily the space pirating business has given Artemis the same learning curve as the Alliance's puppets. "I have no name, at least not one that a human could comprehend. But you may call me Psimon."

"How 'bout we just call you 'Chuckles,' then. You seem to think your situation is funny," Wally says darkly from his desk. He no longer looks the part of a captive buffoon, but rather quite a steely-looking young man who had only just realized the gravity of his current predicament. His ship was taken, there were illegal drugs aboard the fleet and he'd been whipped in the face by some woman's hair while he kneeled in the floor, bound and bleeding from the nose.

Not exactly dignifying.

Still, impressed as she is with his sudden change of face, Artemis can't help but scoff and motion from him to the alien.

"Pot, meet kettle!"

"Hey! I'm not the one who—"

"_Ahem_," comes Kaldur's subdued interruption as he attempts to steer the two back to the task at hand. "I believe it prudent we finish this up before Conner returns."

"Of course, Kal."

Wally stands, bringing his flattened palms down on the desk as he addresses the alien he's christened Chuckles.

"How did you get the Venom on my ship? How did you open all those crates and replace the contents with Venom without anyone noticing?" he demands, on high authority now. Artemis smirks to herself.

For a moment, all is silent.

Then Psimon bursts out laughing, a high, harsh sound that makes them all cringe and take involuntary steps backward. He throws his ugly head back, the hood of his cloak dropping around his shoulders to reveal more milky skin. And when he finally stops and lifts his head up, Artemis thinks she might be sick.

She hasn't been in the space pirate business for very long, but it's been long enough for her to lay eyes on some of the most grotesque, strange looking aliens (and humans) she has ever seen. But all those creatures pale in comparison to this guy; he appears to have stepped right out of an ancient, dusty horror novel.

His brain is exposed, a hulking mess of grey matter and blood and veins that can be seen clearly through the folds of his lobes. It's a repugnant sight, enough to fuel a few good night terrors for the space pirate captain and her companions.

"_What_—" Artemis begins, drawing her crossbow out in fear. She's stopped by his amused voice.

"You have not found any Venom in the crates because I do not _want _you to find it! And when next you waken, there won't even be any cargo here... at least as far as _you _can remember!"

Psimon raises his fingers to his temples.

"_Do something_!" Wally yells as he tries to scramble up from his position behind the desk and Artemis' finger tightens on the trigger of her bow and Kaldur'ahm reaches for the weapons on his back and Zatanna is starting on an incantation and Robin is pulling something sharp and glinting from the pouch on his belt.

But their efforts are in vain.

Artemis collapses into an unconscious heap as a single word echoes forcefully around the cabin and through the crevices of her mind.

"_Forget!"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Young Justice or any of it's characters**.

**_SUPER IMPORTANT!:_** **I have updated the first chapter of this fic! I have changed quite a few things so I would suggest you go back and re-read it, otherwise you might be a little confused!**

**Hey look, I****'m actually updating! Phew, sorry guys but this is going to be a long and slow project, so you'll have to bear with me through month-long waits between chapters. I've got a big ass document full of notes and just... biggest fic** **I've ever attempted! Gonna need a lot of support to stick with it.**

**Big big big big BIG thanks to my partners in this whole ordeal, Damnsmartblueboxes, IronicVeghead, and Geekytheartchick! Without them this story would not be going anywhere at all, so just remember that! **

**Okay so this chapter is in Conner's POV which I have NEVER done, so I really hope I did both he and M'gann justice. This takes place during the previous chapter. A sort of flashback, if you will.**

**This story will, within the next few chapters, be changed to an 'M' rating for things to come. Don't run away on me, I'll be warning about sexual scenes and sectioning them off for those of you who'd rather skip over them! ;)**

**Next chapter will be in Rob's POV. **

**Read and (I sincerely hope you)enjoy! :)**

**o.o.o.o**

Artemis' ship is long and winding, every corridor lined with twisting, rusted bronze pipes that hiss with steam at random intervals. Some of them are broken and dangling, a mess waiting for an inattentive or otherwise lazy engineer to fix when he isn't stealing unwarranted naps in the barracks. Always the deep rumble of the massive cogs working in tandem can be heard from where they bump, grind, squeal, and turn in never-ending sequence in the sweltering engine room at the belly of the vessel.

Wallace's ship is something of a conundrum to Conner. It is... quiet.

The Kryptonian has grown used to the clanks and whirs of his captain's ship, an irritating buzz in the back of his skull, like a swarm of relentless, angry wasps that can not be swatted away no matter how hard he tries. Even the very floor beneath the crew's feet vibrates and thrums and rattles the teeth, knocks the bones, jars their brains. The only reprieve is the barracks, where the noise is somehow mercifully muffled enough to allow for a healthy cycle of REM.

But not for Conner.

His enhanced senses do not permit him the same luxury. He has become something of a menace to the hapless engineers aboard the _Huntress_, storming into rooms and yanking them awake from their impromptu trips into dreamland, demanding that they fix the incessantly spitting broken pipes or squeaky, un-oiled gears before they drive him into madness. Artemis has never lifted a finger to stop the rogue superboy when he goes on one of his rampages; if threats are what it takes to keep things up and running, then she has no qualms about his actions. Kaldur disagrees.

The relative quiet of Wally West's ship almost _irks _Conner. There is only a faint, barely discernible hum from the engine room, all the pipes are seamlessly welded together, and if he listens hard enough he can actually make out snatches of conversations in other rooms, an act that would be impossible aboard _Huntress_.

He supposes that, being a fancy Alliance ship, it has been built with all the top notch technology, more streamlined and quiet and better taken care of by certified, _trained _engineers.

Needless to say, Conner enjoys his trip down the noiseless halls, the only sound that of his polished shoes tapping against the grated floor beneath his feet. He even allows the barest of smiles to tug up one corner of his thinly pressed lips, scaring a few chatty shipmates passing nearby into abrupt silence. They give him a wide berth as he passes, but he is used to people acting this way around him.

Even after being rescued from the frigate _Cadmus_, even after being part of the ragtag band of space pirates for sixth months, a large chunk of the crew isn't entirely comfortable or used to his presence. He is the superboy; the strange, angry by-product of very illegal experiments involving the newly explored science of cloning and bio-organic weapons among other things.

Nobody is quite sure what his deal is or what his original purpose of creation had been intended for, but Artemis and Kaldur have liberated him, and for that he will be eternally in their debt.

Not to mention the fact that he gets to routinely go around wrestling defiant foes down or punching them in the face is an added bonus.

Conner passes by a door that must lead to the mess hall, judging from the sounds of raucous, drunken laughter emanating from within. He rolls his eyes, because in true pirate fashion, alcoholic beverages tend to be the first thing his shipmates seek out aboard a taken vessel, much to Artemis' chagrin.

With a sigh, the Kryptonian halts, realizing very suddenly that he has no idea whom exactly he's looking for. Some girl named Megan, as best as he could recall.

Grunting, he shuts his eyes and lets his super senses broaden, until at last he's fairly certain he can hear the pitter patter of a rodent's sharp little claws from somewhere deep inside the bowels of the _Aster_. He smirks at the irony of dirty vermin on a clean, well-taken care of Alliance fleet, amuses himself with the image of some stuffy publicist's face turning red at the revelation.

The silent mechanisms Conner had previously appreciated for being so peaceful are now just as loud and obvious as the one's aboard _Huntress_. He grimaces, tries to focus on other things, like the various conversations of crew members and captives alike, including Kaldur'ahm's calm voice from all the way up in the admiral's cabin.

Overall he hears nothing of particular importance, is about to give up on his aimless search(and really, what is he hoping to find?), when he hears the most beautiful sound. If his ears were more versatile like an animal's, they would've been straight up, rigid, tuned in fully so that all other noises melted away to nothing.

Someone is humming on the floor below. It's surprisingly happy and upbeat considering everything that's transpired in the last hour, and he can't help but smile a little at the melody. It's unfamiliar, not anything like any song or tune or instrumental he's heard on the old banged up radio Kaldur provided him with.

No, this is much prettier, clearly a feminine voice.

_Megan is a girl_, he thinks simply, and with that logical line of thought, decides to locate the source in the hopes he will find her at the end of it.

He knows his way to the cargo hold by now, having caught the clammy white alien loitering suspiciously near it earlier, and heads that direction, partly guided by his own memory and partly by the trill of his mysterious serenader. Music is one of the few things in life he's found that he truly enjoys(besides pummeling his foes). The tune gracing his sensitive eardrums at that moment is the sweetest sound he's ever discovered, enough that for a moment he actually catches himself humming along off-key.

The singing dissolves into an amused titter by the time Conner rounds the corner, bringing the bay doors into view. He frowns at the loss, but it's quickly replaced by a disgusted grimace aimed at the two useless heaps lying slumped on either side of the door. He jerks one up by the collar and shakes him awake until two blurry, unfocused eyes lock onto his enraged face.

"You're supposed to be guarding the cargo hold!" Conner barks out, pushing the guy into the wall. "Someone's in there, why did you let them pass!"

The dude freaking reeks like old cigars and some kind of cheap vodka, forcing the Kryptonian's keen nose to wrinkle at the offensive smell.

"We was!" he blubbers weakly(god, Conner's never liked this guy), looking around the area as if he's never seen it before. "Someone musta knocked us out!"

Conner snorts, drops the guy so he slides down onto his wide ass. He walks forward with his fists clenched, stopping to press the button and point a threatening finger at him.

"Artemis'll hear about this," he growls, taking satisfaction when the guy looks about ready to soil his trousers. Conner knows for a fact that captain Crock hates some of the sleazeballs on her crew(hates being the captain, really) and so takes it up as a personal task of his to help her find excuses to ditch some of these losers.

As soon as he enters the spacious cargo hold and the door shuts behind him, there's a loud, panicked gasp, followed by a quick white blur of motion that he barely registers before one of the numerous crates marked with the symbol of the Interstellar Justice Alliance topples unexpectedly from its perch.

"Hey!" Conner stumbles hastily, catching it as easily as if it were a thrown pigskin and setting it on the ground beside him. "Wait."

_Well, got my crate, at least_... he adds as an afterthought.

Rapid, shallow breathing from behind a tower of those wooden cases is his only answer. He's sure it must be the girl, her voice had led him to this very place.

"Uh... you can come out," he coaxes uncertainly, shuffling closer to the cargo as he rubs at the back of his neck. He's never been the best with words. Hell, sometimes he can barely string a coherent sentence together, so he's unsure of what exactly to say to let this girl know he's not here to harm her.

He settles on the blunt truth.

"I heard you singing. It was... uh, pretty."

Silence.

Gradually the breathing slows to a normal pace, and Conner is digging deep into his shallow little well of patience when a head pops out around the boxes.

Her eyes are stunning to him, deep brown around the edges of her irises, more amber towards the center, and they are wide and strong and curious even in the face of the embarrassment spreading impetuously across her distinctly green cheeks. Auburn hair cascades neatly over one shoulder, her rosy lips are lightly parted beneath a spattering of freckles that seem oddly out of place. There's a nasty looking gash on her jawline.

"You... heard me singing?" she asks in a shy voice, getting to her feet. His attention is drawn to a beautiful yellow dress fluttering around her knees as she moves toward him apprehensively, one hand holding her arm behind her back. "I didn't know I was that loud."

She reaches down absently to brush some dirt away from delicate kneecaps, and he takes sudden notice of a small patch of white centered just above her right shin, reminiscent of the way a human's skin looks after being subjected to the unforgiving harshness of a sidewalk or carpet. His brows furrow deeply, and he's skeptical of whether this is a natural occurrence in her particular race.

He wisely opts not to mention lest he insult her, instead answers her previous inquiry.

"You weren't. Uh, loud that is. I... hear good."

"Oh."

The awkwardness of the silence that follows is palpable, thick enough that a knife could cut through it. Conner's blue eyes shift to the insignia of the Alliance crate near his shoe in a reminder of what he was sent here for.

"Are you Megan?" he blurts out.

She starts at his raised voice, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear as she stares pensively at the crate that had tumbled down upon his entry. She looks back up at him, frowning, a relatively blank expression on her face, as if she's not entirely there with him anymore. He wonders if maybe he should snap his fingers or something when her eyes finally refocus on his face.

"Are you Conner?"

He blanches.

"How did you-" he starts to splutter, but she points down at the box of supplies, voice confident and even.

"I know what you're down here for, and I already checked the crates. There's no Venom on this ship," she says calmly.

Conner scowls, infuriated and frankly a little disturbed that she knows so much about him, had somehow figured out his intentions without him saying anything. Without warning, he reaches down precipitously, digits biting into the planks like they're nothing more than wet paper puncturing inward beneath his nails. A yell rips from his throat as he gives a single tug and the boards yield, snapping off with loud cracks like fireworks.

He peers in, expecting to find vial upon vial of fresh product, but instead...

"What is this?" he demands, reaching in to pull out a long, thin object covered in red wrapper. There's a small lightning bolt logo on the front.

"Protein bars," Megan answers, rolling her eyes skyward. There's a thinly veiled quirk of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips, forcing a shallow dimple out of hiding on her cheek. "The only one addicted to anything on this ship is Wally to those Lightspeed bars."

Conner drops the candy and whirls with violent force, fist smashing through the bottom box on the precarious column teetering next to them. He's not sure what he anticipates will tumble out of this one, but it sure as hell isn't an explosion of canned soup spraying out all over his clean white shirt and shoes, followed by several other cans pitching into the floor and rolling away.

Megan looks personally affronted by the attack.

"Hey! That food is going to people who desperately need it!" she berates harshly, and he watches in slight awe as the escaping cans levitate into the air in sync with a single hand movement from her. Seemingly of their own accord, the soups return into the decimated crate and remain there.

Conner plunges a hand into his pocket and pulls out the vial of Venom, swirling around the dark blue liquid inside so that it catches the light. Her eyes widen.

"I found this on one of your crew! There's Venom somewhere on this-"

He stops.

"Conner?" Megan asks doubtfully, but he's not listening to her anymore.

His ears twitch at the miniscule voice, for he's sure it's a voice, and it's loud and worried and horrified, so he once again lets his enhanced senses take over, listening intently. He barely notices the way Megan's body tenses stiffly with the next yell, heard by him as clear as if the person were standing right next to him.

"_Do something!" _

It's Wally West's strangled cry drifting down from the admiral's cabin, penetrating his eardrums and reminding him with potent clarity that Kaldur'ahm and Artemis are in that room, too, so if he's in trouble they must be as well. Without so much as a glance at his green companion, Conner turns and races to the exit, bending it outward off it's hinges to bounce against the far wall. He ignores the startled yelps of the two useless guards outside, thundering down the halls as fast as his legs will carry him.

"_Forget!"_

That one, resonant word is so vociferous and intrusive that it brings the superboy to a skidding halt mere feet away from the room. He collapses onto one knee, clutching at his skull. His teeth grind together, waiting for the pain to pass, yet as soon as it does another unwelcome voice enters his mind, soft and urgent.

'_Conner, don't move! Let him go!'_

It's not the time for him to rudely question how the hell she's in his head, but rather to question her clear loss of sanity.

'_Are you crazy? That bastard had-'_

'_He's too powerful! Besides, I think our friends are more important right now...'_


End file.
